Last Saturday
by loosescrew
Summary: One was a lonely number, two was only slightly better, but five felt practically invincible. Post-detention. One-shot.


**A/N** : Listening to Daft Punk and _bachata_ (a sub-genre of Spanish music; artists like Juan Luis Guerra and Prince Royce perform this) are my biggest kryptonite. I just… can't have nice things. :(

And, anyway, I thought it was time for me to get back into writing for canon setting again. I know AU's don't sit well with mass audiences but there's only so much I can do for canon that isn't repetitive for me to write. Most of my ideas tend to work better for AU's.

 **Disclaimer** : My best friend and I are of the very high-key opinion that John, like Allison, has no [real] friends.

* * *

John let out another puff of air, watching his hair strands float for those few seconds. What else was there to do expect find entertainment in most mundane things?

There was no one to talk to besides Vernon. But Vernon was in his makeshift, cubical office, reading over some paperwork retaining to the school district. There was Carl, too... But he was probably at the other end of the school, sweeping the staircase, or mopping, or picking up trash, or whatever else it was janitors did. At least his job required action; it sounded so much better than sitting on this hard, wooden chair.

John leaned the seat back, giving himself enough space to prop his leg on the edge of the wooden table. It was sinking in like stepping in quicksand. He was going to be here every Saturday for the next two months. Every. Single. Fucking. Saturday. For the next seven weeks—after today.

What the fuck was he _thinking_ when he egged Vernon on? Actually, John hadn't been thinking at all—that was the problem. He'd just been so _angry_ —angry at his old man, angry at himself, angry at Vernon, and bubbling with adulterated rage that needed to be let out before it consumed him. All John wanted was to win but his pride was still reeling from the loss. Maybe that shit about 'thinking before speaking' was legit but it was too late in life to learn the concept.

But the more he delved on it, the more he realized—or maybe he already knew it beforehand—that being here was better than at the house. _Anything_ was better than being anywhere near his old man. He could take school. He could deal with teachers that always threw him out. He could deal with kids that hated the sight of him. He could take Vernon's verbal abuse. But John always wanted to be as far away from his old man as possible.

He stopped by the house once, on Wednesday—a day he knew neither of them would be there—just to leave cash in his mom's pillowcase. He didn't want to take a chance by sticking around or taking anything with him. He didn't need anything, though he wished he could take his mattress. His neck was aching from sleeping on the couch in the break room of his job. Showers were taken at school and he also helped himself to a hot meal from the free breakfast program here.

Shit. He really was going insane to think being at school was a better option.

Papers rustled from Vernon's office. John craned his neck, trying to get a view of what he was doing but couldn't see him. The thick, threshold of his office blocked him off.

His eyes drifted to the clock that was still twenty minutes fast. Nine; less than two hours passed. Fuck! And Vernon wouldn't leave yet, not until lunch at eleven. John frowned deeply. Now he understood how people in solidarity confinement went nuts.

The library door was wide open and begging him to do something to it again. Vernon kept the door open with a rope tied to the handle of his closet. The search for the screw was still on going. John wanted to pop out another, or cut the tie, but he wouldn't with Vernon right there.

The door from the room upstairs hadn't been replaced. Carl taped a black garbage bag over it, the same way people did with their broken car windows. Vernon hadn't done anything about the hole in the roof either. Monday morning, John was called into the Principal Hanson's office where Vernon threatened him with calling the authorities if John didn't fess up. He didn't, and with no evidence and no confession, Principal Hanson told them both to leave.

John smirked. Who knew a guy like Andrew had the kind of pipes that could shatter glass? And just how unstable were other parts of the school?

Just like that, Saturday's events slipped back in his mind making his smirk drop. He couldn't stop thinking about every single detail, every facial expression, every word uttered, wondering if something vital slipped through his fingers. John hadn't gone into Monday with any expectations and, yet, disappointment nearly crushed him as he walked the familiar route to his job when the bell rang at two-forty.

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Nothing changed. What did he expect? Most importantly, _why_ did he expect anything?

He absolutely fucking hated to admit it but Claire had been right. Everything was back to the way it'd been before they stepped foot in this library, before they knew each other's names, before they shared their secrets and darkest fears. Her and Andrew were back to their crowd; the rest of them were never to pop up on their radar ever again.

And it's not like they made a promise to stick together. John still couldn't figure out why he was so disappointed in all of them, in himself mostly. The diamond stud in his ear weighed heavier every time he dwelled on all the things that could've been. The thought of pawning it crossed his mind. There was a pawn shop he passed by almost every day on the way to work. He just couldn't give it up.

John thought he'd—at the very _least_ —see Brian. Brian _was_ the most adamant about all of them remaining friends. But the dork was just as much of a ghost as Allison. And John thought he'd caught glimpses of her when he roamed the halls but couldn't be sure. His throat would go dry, feeling like sandpaper, and all he could do was swallow roughly and continue on. Out of all of them, Allison was the one he'd been most curious about.

If she came on Monday, taking all of Claire's advice, then he knew she was ready for things to change. So was he. But John was terrified underneath the piercings, under the attitude, under the image he tried so hard to maintain. He wasn't sure if he could put himself out there again the way he did Saturday. It wasn't something he wanted to do alone. One was a lonely number, two was only slightly better, but five felt practically invincible.

John sighed tiredly, folding his arms on the table and laying his head on top of them. Even now he was still holding onto hope. Why?

Was it because some richie gave him the other half of her diamond set? It probably hadn't been given to him out of genuine kindness. Nobody was ever selflessly nice to him. It was out of pity, John knew it. There couldn't be any other reason. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for him.

And was it even possible for a girl like her to take a guy like him boyfriend-girlfriend seriously, especially with all that bullshit he said about how he didn't believe in one-guy-one-girl? No fucking way. He was the pawn in her chess set, ready to be used in an effort to get at her parents. While he just really wanted to get in her pants.

He scoffed against his arms. He was lying to himself. How disgusting! To think he actually wouldn't _mind_ being in a stable relationship with her, without all the bullshit drama. Sleep, thankfully, took him before his mind could continue on.

"Wake. Up!"

Vernon's growl bolted him out of the blackness. "What, Dick?"

"It's time for lunch." He responded roughly. "Thirty minutes."

Lunch already? He blinked rapidly. Damn, he missed Carl's scheduled stop at the library. _Fuck!_ Why didn't he wake him instead!

John lifted his hand, waving. "No milk, can't go to the caf, the usual. Got it."

"Sit up, _John_. You're not sleeping anymore."

John held back his sigh, and picked up his head with much reluctance. He meet Vernon's beady eyes, gleaming with amusement. God, he'd love nothing more than to wipe that look off Vernon's face.

"You're awfully quiet without your little cheerleaders from last week, aren't ya?" He taunted.

John twisted his lips, pushing his back flat against the back of the chair and shoving his hands deep in his pockets of his leather jacket. "Well, I still got the pleasure of your fine company. You _sure_ keeping me around for two whole months was a great idea on your part, Dick?"

Vernon shuffled, placing his hands on his hips. His favorite pose. "Keep going, and you'll see."

"But it was just a question." John shrugged. "They say the best way to learn is to ask questions."

"And _listen_ , if you know what's good for ya." He added with a low frown.

"See, I _could_ , if you hadn't hired incompetent teachers who think reading chapters out of a book without actual teaching is beneficial to the bunch."

Vernon's eyes narrowed slowly, aiming and waiting. "That's enough outta you, Bender."

John replied in feigned softness, "But, sir! I haven't said anything other than the truth!"

"Oh, _really_? You wanna talk about the truth, John?" Vernon asked, his voice raising a notch with every sentence. "Then, tell me, how'd that glass door shatter? _Huh_? And what about the ceiling? How'd you manage that one, you little prick? I may not have caught you this time, but when I do—"

"How can you be so sure any of that even happened while I was present, Dick?" John asked, and kept going before Vernon could respond. "Last time I recall… The last half of my day consisted of being locked in a tight space, staring at dust on top of boxes. Maybe I should've told Hanson about my numerous visits to the closet?"

Vernon scoffed. "Go ahead. She'd never believe you."

"Hm. I dunno… Because there's also your Saturday strolls to the swimming pool I could mention." Vernon's haughty expression darkened and it almost made John smirk in triumph. "Spying on women's considered an offense in some states, ya know?"

Vernon jabbed his index finger. "You wanna spend the summer in here, too? Keep running your mouth and I'll make it happen."

John clamped his mouth shut.

Summer school wasn't a bad idea, he thought. He'd done it every year prior. But this year, John had a part time job at the record store, located on the mall strip that was always bustling with activity. He wanted to pick up more shifts during the summer. Hopefully, he'd have enough money saved up by his eighteenth birthday in December to start looking for an apartment. He couldn't risk it.

"That's what I thought." Vernon took the silence as his victory. "Don't move from that seat and don't go back to sleep. Any questions?"

Vernon didn't wait for a response, turning, and strutting out of the room, still wearing Barry Manilow's wardrobe.

Why'd the guy bother? He knew John never brought food. Was it just to taunt him? His job paid decent bucks, but most of it went towards his vices and the water bill his mom made him pay since his old man was disabled and couldn't work.

At least he had cigarettes. That'd calm his hunger for a few hours until he got out of here and figured out his next step. He might be able to pick up a few hours today if he called right when he got out.

John took a cigarette out of the box, lighting it with a match. He put it out in the air, discarding it on the carpet. He brought it to his lips, inhaling slowly, relishing in the relaxation that poured through.

"You're not supposed to blaze it up in here."

John coughed roughly, tears garnering in the corners of his eyes.

He blinked quickly, turning his seat. "The fuck, Allison? When'd you get here?"

Allison blew bangs out of her eyes though there were no loose strands. Her bangs were styled expertly to the side, held in place by pale pink headband with a decorative flower. Her heart shaped face and caramel eyes were on display for the world to see.

She smiled crookedly, innocently. "While you were sleeping."

"You should've woken me up!" He screeched, knowing Vernon was long gone by now. "It beats being woken up by him!"

She responded with one of her little squeaks before reaching into her bag and popping out a large sketchpad. How'd she even fit that in there in the first place?

John watched with uncertainty as she pulled more. A composition book, a pencil case, a spiral notebook, a thick binder full of papers sticking out in every direction, a Coca-Cola. Just how much shit can a bag hold? And why do girls always carry so much shit?

Allison stared at the red can gripped in her palm for some time. Then she chucked it right at him. John caught it easily.

He set it off to the side instead of opening it. "Nothing else? No sugar stick sandwiches this time?"

Allison didn't respond.

She took a peek into her bag before she decided to drop it on the carpet. It landed next to polished booties that couldn't be hers along with the pink corduroy pants and plain white T-shirt, covered up with Andrew's blue sweater from last week. She was a walking cotton candy and there was no way it'd all been her doing.

"Whatcha doing here, anyway? Don't you got better things to do?"

"Sporto has a match. It's taking too long." She shrugged, ignoring his jab. "I was bored."

He'd completely forgotten Andrew's comment from last time. "Oh, shit."

"He's in the gym—" She clarified, flipping through the pages of her pad, until she found one. Allison pulled out a black pen, clicking it several times. "—facing off a guy from Gwendolyn Brooks."

John settled in this position, placing his arm along the back of the chair as he smoked his cigarette. "Wouldn't he get mad you're here?"

"Why would he?"

"Aren't you guys like boyfriend-girlfriend?" She gave a reluctant nod. "So, shouldn't you be cheering him on or... _something_ like that?"

"I don't _have_ to. He doesn't force me to be there."

John made a sound. "He's probably not the jealous type, then."

"Even if he was… You're his friend." She said deliberately, glancing up but not at him. "He wouldn't be jealous of people he trusts."

"Yeah? Well, he's got a fuckin' funny way of showing how close we are." John remarked bitterly, reaching for the can.

Allison didn't say anything, didn't even look at him.

John popped the Coke open, welcoming the caffeine in his system with a huge gulp. Probably not the best idea while he was smoking and on an empty stomach, but he didn't like this feeling creeping through his veins.

The only sounds were the faint sizzling from inside the can and the scribbling of Allison's pen on the rough paper, just in case John forgot where he was.

He couldn't take it. "So, you guys hang out?"

"Depends."

He lifted a brow. "On what?"

"Depends." She repeated curtly, glancing up again. John took another drag of his cigarette as he waited. "He's busy sometimes… Like today."

"What about besides that?"

"Yeah."

Her confirmation woke his resentment. His fingers tingled with the urge to throw something. He inhaled more with a deep breath, wishing it'd calm him down quicker.

So they managed to stick together? They're an official thing everybody but him knew about? _How_? Did Andrew go out of his way to find her? Or was it Allison? Probably Allison. Andrew was too much of a chickenshit like Brian.

And what about Brian? Were they talking to him, too? Did Andrew acknowledge him in the halls? And… And what about Claire? Did Queenie of Shermer High actually branch out of her frenemies and Andrew and willingly speak to Allison in front of the entire student body?

John wanted to ask, wanted to know the answers that'd been plaguing his mind for the last week, but was too afraid of the obvious. Once again, a certain richie was right. He really was a big coward. So he kept silent.

He finally figured out what it was Allison kept looking at. The clock. She was waiting for something… Or _someone_. John guessed that was fine, he just never thought Allison was that type of person that'd use people so blatantly, especially since she didn't have any friends before. But he didn't mind being used. It was better than being forgotten.

John finished his cigarette, getting up and depositing the remains in the garbage can. He didn't bother to put it out. Maybe the school would catch fire and he'd get to put one of the fire exits in the library to good use.

He poked his head in the main office, though he knew the answer already. Vernon wasn't here, his suit jacket wasn't anywhere in sight.

"I'm heading to my locker." John hollered as he walked.

"No." She replied lowly though he heard it and stopped. "We're going somewhere else in a little bit."

John's brows furrowed in confusion, walking backwards until he was back in the library. "… _We_?"

She glanced at the clock again. "We."

He tried again, slowly, "Where are _we_ going that's not my locker?"

"You'll see."

"Aw, Allison!" John comically gasped. "Are you hitting on me? I'm shocked! Have you told Sporto about your budding feelings? What about Cherry? Well, maybe that's not a good idea. She won't take it well, but I can't say I'm not opposed to a little cat fight over me!"

Allison's eyes slid over. Her mouth twisted into a sneer that rivaled Claire's.

John laughed, walking back to the row of tables. "So, where're we going?"

Allison didn't respond. She looked back down, back into her zone. John watched her brows draw together in concentration as she colored something in. What the fuck was she hiding?

"C'mon, Allison..." John almost whined. "You can't leave me hanging like that!"

She still said nothing.

God, he wished he could be like her sometimes. No bullshit. He wished he could enjoy solitude the way she did. Quiet spaces, silences, anything blank and bleak needed to be filled with noise. John couldn't be left alone with his thoughts for too long. They were too dark for him to handle sometimes.

Something from earlier came back. "Hey, what about my shit? Can I get it back?"

Allison froze. "… What shit?"

"You think I'm a fuckin' idiot?" John asked rhetorically. "We're like fraternal twins, Allison. Obviously, you're a nicer, quieter version of me while I'm the much better version of you. Now, if you'll please just hand 'em over…"

John stuck out his hand, beckoning with his fingers impatiently.

Allison clenched her jaw, a child caught sticking her hand in the cookie jar. She picked her bag off the floor, and opened the flap. She set his switchblade on the table, his lock following suit—both in the condition he left them in.

Grabbing the switchblade first, he stuffed it in the pocket of his acid wash jeans. "It's been a pleasure doing business with ya!"

"Have you talked to Claire?" She asked abruptly.

"Nah." Though he _really_ wanted to and _loathed_ just how much he'd been dying to see her again. John clipped the lock on the strap for the belt. "You?"

Allison nodded, her pen sweeping very lightly along the top of the mountain landscape she was doing.

"Well. Isn't that _swell_?" He muttered darkly, shifting on his feet. "And Big Bri?"

"I see him sometimes." Allison responded. "He's hardly around. The clubs keep him busy. We eat lunch together sometimes... Whenever Sporto's busy and can't make it."

"Fan-fucking-tastic." John ground his jaw, running his thumb along his fingers. "So, I'm the one outta the loop."

"We tried looking for you. I did." She said quietly. "And Claire the most."

John felt a rush of something and felt sick to his stomach. How did Claire always do this to him when she wasn't even around?

"I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Believe what you want." Allison glanced at the clock, shutting the sketchbook and stuffing it back inside, along with the other stuff. "It's a big school, lots of students. You're… _elusive_ outside of detention."

John's brows rose. "And you're _not_?"

Allison shrugged grandly, like the answer should've been obvious. "Everyone else thinks that. Not me. I don't hide, I just don't fit in—like you."

John rolled his eyes, taking a seat in the chair right across from her.

It's not that he wasn't grateful for company but things were going nowhere fast. Allison wasn't much of a talker, and whenever she _did_ speak it was filled with introspection he didn't want or need. Why couldn't she be normal and annoyed by his antics like everyone else?

The loud groan of the main offices' door caught his attention. Vernon couldn't be back yet. He wouldn't come back until close to two, around the time John would be getting out. And the footsteps across the floor were the sound of sneakers, not self-important clicks of dress shoes.

"Hey!" Andrew popped in, red faced, smelling like he just came from the showers, and sporting an attire of different shades of blue once again. "Sorry, I'm—"

"You're late." Allison deadpanned. "It's eleven thirty-nine."

"That's only nine minutes!" He checked the clock, then checked the watch in his duffle bag pocket. "It's still twenty minutes ahead!"

"Still late."

He smiled sheepishly, passing right by John like he didn't exist. "I tried getting outta there as fast as I could, but my old man and coach had some, uh, 'words of wisdom' after the game."

She her lips tugged into a gentle smile she probably only reserved for him. "Everything okay?"

"As good as it'll ever be, I guess." Andrew took Allison's bag from her, placing it over the same shoulder his duffle bag was hanging off of. "I checked the front and she's not back yet."

Allison sighed, as if saying, _what'd you expect?_

"I didn't think she'd be out my whole match, though!" Andrew retorted before his tired, blue eyes landed on John. "Hey, Bender. How's it going?"

"I could be seeing heaven right now—" John responded, with an indication of his finger to the ceiling. "—but Allison said _we_ were doing something so that's been put on hold…"

"Yeah. _That_. We should get going." He took Allison by hand, leading. "Guess we'll have to hope Claire comes back in time."

John rolled his eyes, propping his leg on the table again. "Well, _bye_. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out!"

Both of them turned before getting to the door. "You're coming, too."

"Ah!" John got up, gathering his coat and sticking his arms in the sleeves. "Good idea!"

Andrew rolled his eyes. John put the sunglasses on top of his head.

He walked a pace behind them, lip curling at their laced hands. At least they were tame compared to most high school couples he saw. The mass flaunted their undying love for one another and couldn't keep off each other. Andrew and Allison were just content to be.

God, he hoped Claire didn't expect any lovey-dovey bullshit from him.

"Is Brian—"

"—distracting Vernon by the gym?" He finished, nodding. "We didn't think Vernon would stop by to see the game, but whatever works for us, I guess… Still, we gotta hurry, just in case it doesn't work."

John's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Big Bri's _distracting_ Vernon? _How_?"

"Brian's trying to convince him to get off campus with some lunch special coupon his mom got in the mail." Andrew explained. "It's giving us the time we need to bust you out and keep you out for a few hours."

"Shit!" John whistled, imagining stuttering Brian trying to persuade Vernon. "How's that going?"

Andrew shrugged. "We're hoping it works."

"Well, anything including brownies should do the trick. I'm telling ya, the man's a brownie hound!"

Andrew snorted in disbelief. "We'll see."

As they turned the last corner that led towards the main entrance, John caught the silhouette of a familiar figure. Carl was mopping the floor, whistling whatever tune was playing in his earphones connected to the radio clipped to his belt straps. It sounded like " _Strawberry Fields Forever_ " by The Beatles.

"Hey, Carl!" John called out.

Carl glanced, slipping the earphones of his Walkman off. "Guys. Bender. What's up?"

He feigned innocence. "I might need a little favor..."

"You _might_? A _little_?" Carl reiterated, with a quirked brow. He set the mop inside the bucket. "What for? And what's in it for me, man? My services aren't easily bought."

"Half my doobage."

Carl didn't need to think. His mouth tugged into a smirk. "You drive a hard bargain, Bender. What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing unusual…" John trailed off, turning on his heel and walking backwards. "Just make sure Vernon doesn't go in until I get back. You can help yourself to your half if ya want it now."

Carl nodded in affirmation. "All right. Will do."

John smiled. "See ya next Saturday!"

"Take care." Carl called out as John turned forward. "Be back by twelve forty-five."

"Got it!"

Andrew held the door open for them, mostly Allison but John pushed him back before Andrew could follow her out. Andrew shot him a glare.

The driveway was empty, but it was a beautiful, almost noon sky. John set his sunglasses on his nose, blocking out the sun's rays. Spring was nice, but it was on the verge of ending. He was already dreading the summer heat.

"Where's Claire?" Andrew asked exasperatedly, taking a place between him and Allison.

"Dunno." Allison responded. "I'm not a mind reader."

"I wish you could be." Andrew joked with a smile, lacing their hands together again. "It'd be easier to understand her since you're a girl, too."

"I think… She said something about her shoes. She needed to change them."

" _Great_." Andrew muttered, eyeing John. "What is it with girls and this stuff? It's not like most people care."

John shrugged, glad his sunglasses were hiding his shock. She'd been part of this whole idea to bust him out of detention, knowing that if they all got caught, she'd be back here? He wondered if she could get any hotter.

"There's nothing wrong with a chick that takes pride in her appearance." John managed to say.

"That's true…" Andrew agreed reluctantly, his forehead puckering in agitation. "But I don't get it! _She's_ the one that wanted us to be in this spot at the same time. _She's_ the one—"

"I had no part in this 'grand scheme' of yours, so…"

Andrew stopped before he could ramble on. The lines of his forehead disappeared. "Oh, yeah. About this… I, uh… I wanna apologize for some of the things that happened Saturday."

John's eyes widened behind the sunglasses. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, man." Andrew scowled. "This was all my idea, with everyone's help. I should've listened to you about the hallway thing. It's my fault you were thrown in the closet. And I'm not proud of what I said about you not counting or mattering, and calling you a fag, and hoping you'd drop dead, and... Yeah. I'm sorry about all that."

John shrugged it off, looking down. "I deserved it."

"No." Andrew shook his head adamantly, having thought over it too long. "No, you didn't. Nobody does. I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I know how it is, man, and it's not right. I shouldn't have stooped to that level."

"My level, you mean."

Andrew pulled his lips. "Yeah, but we could've been better than that. Still can be."

John thought it over. He couldn't recall a time someone apologized to him. Nobody felt sorry for him. He never gave anyone a reason to feel sorry for him, not until he let his home life slip through for the first time.

And he didn't take the fall for them because he was expecting to be repaid. John just… He wasn't even sure why he did it. Maybe he liked them. Maybe he did think of them all as friends, the same way Brian did, despite all the spats and insults between them before crashing into the gate.

Andrew waited for his response patiently.

John shuffled on his feet. "It's not like I was any better than you, Sporto... You don't owe me shit."

"I just want us to be on the same page." Andrew adjusted the straps, never letting go of Allison's hand. "I feel like you might've been avoiding me 'cause of whatever it is I said… Even though I thought we ended on a good slate."

John's lip curled. "The fuck? I wasn't avoiding you—and definitely not because of that."

"Claire's here." Allison cut in suddenly.

Andrew rolled his eyes, holding up his free hand in defense. "Whatever you say, Bender, just as long as there's no hard feelings between us."

"None."

Andrew gave a small, relieved smile and a nod. "Good. And if you ever need a place to stay for the night, just let me know. I have an inflatable... Unless you wanna sleep in my sister's room. She's out for college."

John hid his smirk with a lick of his lip. "I'll take the inflatable."

The humor washed from his face as John watched the same silver BMW from last Saturday pulled into the driveway, parking near the curb. Claire was the one driving this time, not her father. Andrew and Allison descended first while John fumbled to get his legs moving, until he finally followed them, counting the steps.

Why the fuck was he so nervous? Claire was just a girl! It's not like he couldn't talk to girls. He had a wallet full of pictures to prove it. And he talked to Allison just fine!

But, in the few hours he'd known her, Claire found a way to leave him dumbfounded. He couldn't believe _he_ was crushing. Hard. And, of course, it _had_ to be on the most popular girl in school. John didn't think this type of shit was possible for a guy like him, with the experience like him, but there it was; a feeling he couldn't fight. He even felt satisfied when he threw the photos in a random dumpster. What did she do to him?

Eventually, Andrew broke away from Allison, opening the back door for her. John's hand hesitated on the ice-cold handle.

"Hey!" Claire's honeysuckle voice greeted them. "Sorry I missed your match! The shoes Allison picked were killing me."

"Don't worry about it. You mind popping the trunk?" Claire did, and Andrew placed their belongings in there.

"Sorry." Allison said lowly. "I didn't think you'd mind them."

"It's not your fault, Allison!" Claire reassured. "I hadn't worn them yet. They needed to be broken in, anyway, so it's fine. I'd just rather be comfortable."

"Well, you didn't miss much while you were gone." Andrew continued when he closed the trunk and came back. He ducked inside and John found the courage to open the door. "I won."

Claire's lips curved into a smile, but her pretty smile wasn't the reason John couldn't stop staring as he sat down and shut the door. "Unsurprising."

"He really is a race horse." Allison chimed cheekily.

Andrew rolled his eyes at her comment. "The finals are in a month, but it's at Northside."

" _Northside_? That's far!" Claire exclaimed. "Do you know how early I'd have to get up to make it in time? And I'd have to find something suitable for Allison to wear!"

"But I'm not expecting you guys to go." He said with a half-smile that held no bitterness. "I'm gonna take a bus Friday afternoon and rent a hotel room for the weekend."

Claire blinked several times. "You're going up there by _yourself_?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I've done it before. My parents have an anniversary trip planned that weekend and mom won't let him ditch it since everything's already been paid for. I'm glad he's not going. They said they're gonna swing by and pick me up on Sunday."

"I'll go with you." Allison offered, placing her hand on his.

"No, really, it's fine! You don't have to come."

"But I still want to." She insisted. "It's important to you."

Andrew searched her face, his lips breaking into a smile. "Okay."

Claire's lips twisted in thought. "I could ask my mother to get you a very generous discount for a hotel."

Andrew blinked in surprise. "That's okay, Claire, I don't mind—"

"Andy." She started, unyielding. "I can't have any friends of mine staying in a cheap motel room for a whole weekend."

Andrew glanced at Allison who shrugged. Andrew sighed for both of them. "If it makes you feel better… I guess it's fine..."

"Great!" She put both hands on the steering wheel. "So, where's Brian?"

Andrew answered. "Dunno."

Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. "... What do you mean you don't know? You didn't see him before you left? You mean, you _left_ Brian with Vernon?"

"He's a guy, Claire!" Andrew reasoned. "He can handle it. Don't forget _he_ offered to do it."

Claire frowned, gaze shifting to John. "And _you_! Why're you so quiet? It's freaking me out a little bit."

John licked the corner of his mouth, raising his sunglasses. He gave her a one up that made Claire press her thighs together in anticipation. Off shouldered shirt. Short, checkered skirt. Opaque tights. Burgundy lips and nails, even her hair wasn't proper; curly and free. God, she looked like every one of his wet and wildest dreams.

"You look hot."

"Thanks, I know." She brushed off with a roll of her eyes though a flush crept up her neck. "Allison did it. She has a gift for bringing art to life… I would've never put something like this together on my own."

John's brows rose. "Did she?"

Allison mouthed, _you're welcome_. John grinned.

"We came to an agreement yesterday that if I pick out something for her or do her makeup, then she gets to do it to me." Claire explained. "I've been doing it to her all week, so I guess it's only fair…"

"You guy's gonna switch wardrobes next week?"

Claire sneered. "Don't push it."

"It's just a question!" John exclaimed, adding before he could stop himself, "Besides, if you're gonna come with me to one of my parties, you gotta go like this. They'll eat ya alive if you wear anything else."

"I know…" Claire muttered, gnawing on her bottom lip. "It's not really my scene, though… But if that's your way of asking me out, then, yeah, I'll go."

"I don't think that's my scene, either—" Andrew started, though the question wasn't with him at all. He nudged Allison's bicep with his elbow. "—but you should go with them."

"I want to." Allison said in a small voice, staring at her folded hands on her lap.

Claire smiled brightly. "Of course you can come! It'll be fun... Or so I _hope_."

John's brows rose. "You'd let her go with me?"

"Why not?" Andrew's brows rose in equal suspicion. "I don't own her just 'cause she's with me, and you're her friend. You'll take care of her."

A ghost of a smile crossed John's lips. People never believed in him so blindly, so faithfully before. "Well, I guess I'll let you guys know."

Allison pointed to the windshield. "Brian's out."

With the quickness of a squirrel, Brian hurried down the stairs, wearing another outfit his mother picked out. Khakis and a geometric patterned sweater that reminded John of an arcade carpet.

John smirked, chuckling. "He should come, too."

"Oh, God." Andrew muttered.

"C'mon, Sporto! If he goes, you go, too! Take a hit while we're in the car and you'll be ready to party when we get there."

Andrew huffed. "I'll think about it."

Brian ducked in and shut the door, out of breath and red from running. "Sorry for the wait! I had to convince him the coupon only worked today."

"And…?" Andrew elongated.

Brian made a gesture like it should've been obvious, smiling broadly. "It worked! All I had to do was mention brownies."

John shot a pointed look at Andrew. _See?_ Andrew frowned and flipped him off.

"That's a relief." Claire set the car into drive, and pressed lightly on the gas. "So, where to? I'm really hungry. If I hadn't skipped breakfast this morning, I would've been late."

"Anywhere." John said. "Long as it's far as fuck away from here."

"That's very specific." Claire muttered.

"Oh, and I gotta be back before one."

Claire flicked her wrist. "That's enough time. What about sushi?"

Andrew and Brian also responded with him, "No."

"Okay, fine! It's not like you guys are helping out!"

"… What about the deli that opened?" Allison asked hesitantly. "It's the one on Ashland Ave… I've been wanting to go there…"

"That place is good, you should've told me sooner!" Andrew grinned. "My parents took me there a couple of weeks ago after one of my meets. Their BLT was awesome!"

Brian gave a nod. "Sandwiches are good with me."

Four sets of eyes landed on John. He shrugged. "Sandwiches are cool with me, too… But I got no cash."

"I'll pay for you, Bender." Brian offered sincerely. "Don't worry about it."

"Guess that's that."

Claire made a left, slowly driving off the school grounds. John kept a look out for Vernon's Ford sedan the first few blocks.

Ashland Ave was about ten miles away, a little over twenty minutes if Claire didn't choose to use the turnpike, so John pushed the seat back. He'd push it farther if Andrew was sitting behind him. Brian was the tallest one out of all of them and needed the most leg room, so he didn't push it back as far as he'd like.

Nobody tried to strike up a conversation. Maybe there wasn't a need to, but John couldn't stand it. He was jumpy and ready for someone to say anything.

Glancing at the rear view mirror, he saw Andrew's head was on Allison's shoulder. His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. Brian was sitting in his corner snugly, tapping his fingers on his knees to the beat of the music. Claire couldn't pay attention to him because of the road and she was busy lip-syncing to the song.

He couldn't take this new-wave garbage any longer. It hadn't even been three whole minutes. He should've guessed she'd follow whatever her friends and mainstream radio were into. Claire seemed like an intelligent girl. John refused to believe she willingly listened to groups like Duran Duran, and New Order, and Depche Mode—although New Order wasn't the worst of the bunch.

John reached over, changing the station.

"Hey!" She slapping his hand but missed. "I liked that song! Put it back!"

"Claire, didn't daddy teach ya to keep two hands on the wheel?"

"No, my father sent me to driving school." Claire kept trying to slap his hand but to no avail, and John couldn't help laughing. "John! Leave my radio alone! This is my car!"

"Actually, I'm pretty sure this is your daddy's car, but so what?" He retorted, grabbing her warm hand and setting it back on the wheel. "You drive, I handle the music. You got company falling asleep back there."

"Fuck off." He heard Andrew mumble. "I'm tired."

Claire shot John a glare, then carefully made a right at the red light. "That's not how it works."

"You drive—" He reiterated with annoying persistence. "—and I handle the music."

Claire pursed her lips. "This is not correct."

"Sure it is! I'm the guest!"

She indicated with her head. "So are they!"

"Yeah, but _I'm_ riding shotgun. I get certain privileges over the rest."

She twisted her lips, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. "Brian? What do you think?"

John leaned over the headrest, shooting him a dirty look. Brian gulped loudly, blue eyes darting between them.

"I, uh…" He stuttered. "I think… John should, uh, handle the music."

Claire's pout made him feel so smug. "Allison? What about you?"

Allison wanted to roll her shoulder but couldn't. She murmured against the window pane, her eyes lost in a daydream. Her hand cradled Andrew's head and fingered his hair at the same time. He finally knocked out on her shoulder. John couldn't blame him. This music and grandma driving could put even the lightest sleeper straight into a coma.

"See, Claire?"

Claire huffed, turning into a plaza that was not their destination. "You're such a cheat."

"Nu-uh." John folded his arms across his chest. "I won fair and square."

Claire rolled her eyes. "No, you didn't. You persuaded Brian 'cause you knew Allison wouldn't care."

"I didn't persuade him! He agreed all on his own." John turned again. " _Right_?"

Brian held up his hands, speaking clearly. "I already said my peace… I hope I made the right choice."

"You did!"

Claire scoffed, parking the car in an empty space in the last row where most cars weren't parked. There were plenty of parking spaces towards the middle and the front but she was looking for something quick. Turning off the ignition, she jingled the keys in the space between them.

John stared at them, squinting. "You'd rather I drive?"

"If I get control of the radio and don't get to hear you talking? Yes."

John licked his lips, smirking. "You know I'm gonna bother ya anyway, right?"

"Unfortunately so." She deadpanned as she got out.

He took the keys from her and opened the door. "You know you love it!"

Claire brushed right by him. It was just a slight furor, but still, John couldn't help take a hold of her wrist before she was completely out of reach. The gesture made her stop and turn. Claire didn't have time to say anything before he planted his lips on hers.

They were just as warm, and soft, and sweet, as last Saturday. She kissed him back with the same intensity and everything he'd been holding back all week came tumbling out. His hand moved from her wrist, up her arm, ghosting along the smooth skin of her shoulder blade, to her neck, until his fingers reached her hair. He always thought he had a thing for blondes, but he was starting to reconsider.

He'd been thinking about her so much. What was it about this Richie he liked so much? It wasn't just her pretty face, or her body, it went deeper than all that. This feeling stirred when she joined him in the closet.

And, God, those few minutes in the closet had been the biggest tease. Claire was a tease. She knew it. But he loved every second of it. It definitely made him hot in all the right places.

She sucked in a harsh, surprised breath when he slipped his tongue inside. Claire pushed against his hips lightly. "John… Stop… Not here…"

John pulled away with much reluctance but kept his forehead against hers. "Why?"

"'Cause there's people around."

"… So?"

" _So_?" She repeated in offense. "It's rude! Not everyone's comfortable with seeing stuff like this!"

John softly chuckled and buried his head in her neck, wanting nothing more than to drown in her sweet-smelling perfume. "I did this in front of your daddy, too. Just not as explicit."

"But that was my father—"

"So, you care more about the opinions of total strangers than your family?"

He felt her hand in his hair, manicured nails tenderly scratching along his nape. "Didn't we cover this? I care about everyone's opinions."

"You really shouldn't, especially your friends." He commented against her skin.

"It's not easy to unlearn." She said earnestly, though a little strangled from the proximity. "But I've been trying this week… I'm trying not to care so much about what my friends think. They don't control my life, I do."

"Good."

He nipped her neck and her hands flew to his stomach. "John! There's people watching!"

John picked up his head. "Nobody's around, Claire."

"Please, stop. Seriously! Brian's in the car."

John dropped his hands, stuffing them in his pockets. The feel of her still lingered on his lips and fingertips. "Fine."

She smiled lightly, cheeks a tinge pink even underneath her makeup, before she reached out. She cupped his face, wiping his lips with her long sleeve pulled over her thumbs.

His brows furrowed. He couldn't pull away. "What're you doing, Claire?"

She giggled. "Stop moving! My lipstick is all over you!"

He groaned, leaning his head into her. "I don't mind."

"Yeah, I know." She half-smiled, stepping away with one last swipe across his lip. Being around him again seemed just as hard for her. "And, um, since you mentioned my father… He'd really appreciate if you came over for dinner sometime next week."

"Shit!" His exclamation carried with the breeze. "You told him about me?"

"What choice did I have?" She asked incredulously. "You stared him down when you walked me to my car."

John licked his lips, recalling George's blank expression staring back at him. "Well, what'd you tell him?"

"Almost everything…" Claire replied uncertainly, averting her eyes. "Leaving out the not-so-nice parts..."

John couldn't believe he was doing this. But if Andrew could man up and do it for him, then there was no excuse as to why he couldn't do it. "About that… Sorry about some of the things I did Saturday... And some of the stuff I said…"

Her thin brows flew up in dubiety. "Are you really?"

John couldn't look at her, though he meant every word. He dug his heel into the cement. "Yeah, I am. I shouldn't have done that shit under the desk… And you're not a bitch... Or frigid... Or pathetic... And I don't think I can live with you hating me."

His heart hammered in his chest as Claire stood there in silence. Her soft chuckle caused him to look up, feeling the muscles in his face harden.

"I already forgave you when I went in the closet. I appreciate this a lot, though. And, for the record, I obviously don't hate you."

His mouthed twitched, he couldn't help it. "Not unless you're a masochist or into hate-fucking—which, by the way, I've never done. Just so we're clear. But! I wouldn't mind trying it if you decide you're into that."

Her disgusted groan made him laugh. "You're _truly_ nauseating."

"Sue me." His smile and chuckle faded. "Seriously. You can forgive me just like that? Even after all the shit I did to make you cry?"

Claire shrugged grandly. "You're rough around the edges but not all bad—not to me. Everybody's allowed to make mistakes, it's how we grow. Even if I _wanted_ to, I can't really hold anything against you now."

He hadn't expected her to be so upfront, so direct and unafraid, but honesty was really one of Claire's best qualities. That was one thing he liked a lot about her.

"Yeah, I just make a lot of 'em..."

She tilted her head to the side. "It's not like you're gonna do it again. _Right_?"

"I can't make promises. But I'll try not to."

Claire nodded, understanding. "Then, there's no need to tell my parents about it. It's our business, not theirs. I only told them the gist, and also left out… Well, you know..." She avoided the subject with a twist of her lips. "That's your place to tell them, if you ever want to. Not mine."

"Why?" He asked with a raised brow. "So I can have _more_ people feel sorry for me? Nah, nobody else has to know."

Her brows knitted. "I don't feel sorry for you."

John's lips curled into a deep frown. "Claire."

"Okay." She relented with an eye roll. "So I _do_ feel slightly guilty, but I don't see what's wrong with it."

John looked away with an angry sigh, mulling on his lips. "Because it makes me feel like some fuckin' charity case. First, the earring, then Sporto offered me a place to stay, now Big Bri's offering to buy my lunch because I don't got a dime to my name right now."

Her face softened considerably. "Don't mistake compassion for pity, John. This is what friends do, they help each other out."

"Whatever it is, I don't like it." He said tightly, his fingers clutching the keys until he felt the sharp edge poking his palm. "I don't need it."

"Hey." She reached out, rubbing both his arms soothingly. He tensed at the thrilling affection, then relaxed. "Everybody needs it sometimes, even you. It doesn't make you any less of a guy, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried about anything."

Claire rolled her eyes, dropping her hands. "Oh-kay. Then, why were you avoiding us all week?"

"I wasn't avoiding you guys." His nose crinkled. "Is it hard to believe I enjoy being everywhere and nowhere all at once?"

"Sure..." Claire drawled, folding her arms over her chest.

His brow quirked. "You don't believe me?"

"Nope!" She said with an emphasis. "You tend to get off on being stupid. All of us were worried about the same thing on Monday, you know? Not just you. We all had things to lose, but I like to think we had more to gain."

He'd never really had a friends before. Like minded individuals? Sure, they were great for blazing it with during and after school. But real friendship, with people he could rely and depend on for just about anything? John wasn't sure what to do with the notion. If there was something he was exceptionally good at, it was fucking a good thing up.

And he knew it was only a matter of time before Claire moved onto someone better. He'd never be whatever it is she wanted him to be. He couldn't give her all the things she wanted, all the things she deserved. But for now, he'd live in the illusion that, maybe, they could be.

Finally, John nodded. "I guess you got a point there..."

"So, can we get a move on?" Claire asked with a smile. Her legs were trembling from the chilly air. "We're wasting time."

John pulled the keys out of his pocket. "No time's ever truly wasted when you're with me."

Claire rolled her eyes, turning away.

He ducked into the driver seat, fixing the chair how he liked it. Claire put the passenger seat back to the way it'd been before, and pulled down the visor. She placed her purse on her lap, unclasping the flaps.

He turned the ignition on, setting the stick in reverse. John turned around, jaw dropping.

" _Brian_!" He opened and closed his mouth several times. "The fuck are you wearing a helmet for?"

Brian secured the straps under his chin and double checked his seatbelt that John hadn't remembered being on when Claire was driving. "I'm getting prepared for the accident that's about to happen because I don't trust you to be driving."

"Where'd you even get that?"

Claire pulled her lips into a tight line, trying hard not to laugh. "It's my brother's. He has a habit of leaving his equipment in my father's car since he's usually driving him around, too. I'm sure there's more stuff in the trunk."

"C'mon, Big Bri, take it off. You'll be fine."

Brian shook his head. "Absolutely not. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Claire was practically vibrating in her seat, shoulders shaking and gnawing on her lip. "Do you need shoulder pads, Brian?"

"I'm considering it." He responded. "I'll find a way to use it as neck brace."

"Oh, so you think this is funny?" John's bellow stirred Andrew who twitched. "Do I gotta remind you which one of us got detention for crashing the car into a _mailbox_?"

Her pretty lips scowled under the wipe she was using. " _Jennifer_ was the one that crashed the car. I was in the passenger seat fixing my makeup like I am right now."

"What's your makeup gotta do with anything?" She took out her foundation compact and the accompanying brush. "You were still in the car! And you're the one that got detention for it!"

"'Cause she found a way out." She replied calmly, leaning closer to the mirror in the visor. "Regardless, I wasn't the one driving. I didn't do anything wrong."

"You still weren't paying attention! You could've avoided the accident if you'd been on the lookout!"

"Well, in Claire's defense—" Brian butt in confidently. "—she, as passenger, doesn't have to. And _you're_ the one that came crashing down from a roof because you didn't calculate the weight capacity. _You're_ also the one who—"

John whirled in the seat, glaring. "Stay out of this, Brian! This is between me and her."

Brian held his palms up. "Bender, I'm just stating facts. It's what I do."

Andrew yawned, slowly lifting his head off Allison's shoulder and rubbing his eyes. "Are we there yet?"

"No." Brian answered. "Claire made a pit stop."

"Why?" Andrew's brows furrowed, eyes still struggling to adjust to the lighting as he turned his head to Brian. "… And why're you wearing the helmet?"

"John's driving." Allison said. John hadn't noticed her seatbelt buckled before. The betrayal!

Andrew's eyes widened, awake and alert. "Oh, fuck. Can you open the trunk? My headgear's in my bag."

"I can drive, I know what I'm doing!" John yelled. "I didn't get my license at the flea market or some shit!"

"I'd rather not take any chances since I'm in the middle…" He looked down and realized his seatbelt was already on. "Thanks, Ally!"

"You're welcome. Brian helped."

"You guys are still some fuckin' dildos, ya know." John shot a glare at Claire who looked extremely smug. "I'm totally pining this all on you. You set me up."

Claire smirked, snapping the compact shut with her fingers and placing it back in her bag. She leaned down and helped herself out of her boots, placing her feet on the dashboard. She wiggled her toes in the tights. Surely her parents would have a field day if they ever saw her doing this.

She turned, batting her eyes. Her dark lipstick was gone but she was still hot. "I'm just in charge of the music."

"I think I'd rather John be in charge of the radio…" Andrew said.

John scoffed, peering over his shoulder at the back window as he set the car in reverse. "Yeah, thanks for nothing, asshole."

Andrew shrugged. With a scowl and shake of his head, John backed the car up, slowly, turning the wheel mostly to the left.

Allison started up a conversation about the musician—Wham!—Claire put on the stereo. For being polar opposites in every sense, they liked a lot of the same things. Andrew was practically dying from sleep deprivation and hunger combined. He ended up passing out again but this time on Allison's lap. After a few blocks, John caught movement in the mirror and glanced in time to see Brian take off the helmet.

And as Claire laced her fingers with his, John knew there was no way he would fuck this up. He wouldn't.

* * *

 **A/N:** I love y'all sm and appreciate all your reviews and continued support but please, _please,_ please **don't** ask me to write continuations/sequels for fics I clearly have labeled as complete— **unless** I ask for that kind of feedback! I've been getting these kind of reviews lately and I **know** you guys mean no harm and it's meant as a compliment but I'm getting extremely tired of receiving them. Yes, I've thought about making some of my one shots multi-chapters, but I don't for a lot of reasons; the main being that I write one shots with the intent of not writing more.

I write for free (usually for me and my own self indulgence purposes) and I have a life outside of fandoms and writing. Writing isn't my job. It's a hobby I enjoy doing, and something I find my happy place in. Fanfic writers aren't machines and not all of us can churn out ideas at the pace you want, and for your needs. Just please keep that in mind when you ask for "more" when it's not asked for.


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